


Friends in the Right Places

by JantoJones



Series: Stand-alone  (The 1st 100) [99]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Illya falls foul of an NYPD detective.





	Friends in the Right Places

Illya Kuryakin sat alone in the interrogation room, with his hands cuffed behind him, and bided his time. His best option for the moment was to wait and not antagonise the situation. Everything he’d been carrying, including a microfilm, had been confiscated and, although Illya had some equipment in his heel, he’d decided against using it. The door to the room slammed open and a large, sweaty man entered. He was dressed entirely in brown, right down to his socks and tie. He sat down opposite his prisoner and began looking through the file he’d brought in.

“My name is Detective Littleton,” he stated, without looking at Illya. “I take it you’ve had your phone call.”

“Yes, thank you,” Illya replied. “I have assistance on the way.”

“Good, because you’ll be needing the best lawyer you can get.”

“I will not require a lawyer.”

Littleton finally looked up at the man in front of him. Illya could see the anger in his eyes, and his breathing suggested he was only just keeping himself in check. The detective was obviously not happy at being handed this particular case.

“Just so there’s no confusion, I do not like Russians,” he snarled. “I especially don’t like Russians who are walking around my city carrying guns, fake identification, and what looks like some sort of microfilm. What I really hate are Russian spies.”

“I am an agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement,” Illya explained calmly.

“Yeah, right! Do you expect me to believe that ID card to be genuine?”

“You can believe what you wish,” Kuryakin told him, keeping his tone level. “It will not change the truth.”

“Look, I’ve got better things to do than deal with little Soviet runts. I should be seeing my boy in his school play, and because I’m not there, I’ll get a load of grief from my old lady. I’ve already worked a fourteen hour shift, thanks to Conti calling sick and now I have a damned russkie to deal with."

Without any warning, Littleton rose to his feet, hauled Russian over the table by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. Illya bit back a cry as he felt one of the bones in his left arm break. The detective leaned close in to his face.

“If I had my way, I’d throw you back to Russia here and now,” he growled, causing Illya to gag against his onion smelling breath. “Unfortunately, all I can do for now is charge you with carrying a concealed weapon. Don’t worry though; I’m sure I can come up with something else with very little effort.”

“Littleton!”

The detective let go of the prisoner and turned to face the owner of the voice; Capt. Braxton. Behind the captain, he could see Commissioner Taylor and an elderly looking gentleman.

“You appear to be assaulting a member of the U.N.C.L.E.,” the Commissioner said, doing very little to hide his ire. “From what I understand, Mr Kuryakin had ID with him. Would you care to explain what is going on?”

“I . . . I . . . thought.”

“You did not think,” Braxton roared. Then more quietly said, “Why did you not check the ID before coming in here. Get those cuffs off him.”

Littleton obeyed immediately and as he released the cuffs Illya hissed out in pain.

“Are you hurt, Mr Kuryakin?” the Commissioner asked.

“I felt my arm break,” Illya admitted.

Upon hearing that one of his agents had been unnecessarily injured, Alexander Waverly let loose his wrath. He demanded charges be brought against the detective and made it clear that he expected the heaviest possible penalties to be handed to him.

“If you are ready, Mr Kuryakin, let’s get you to a doctor.”

After Illya had collected his belongings he and Mr Waverly headed back to headquarters. The injured man cradled his hurting arm.

“I do not want the detective charged, Sir,” he said quietly, swallowing back the pain.

“He attacked you without provocation, young man.”

“I know, but I can understand his motivations,” Illya explained. 

The man was a low level bigot and had clearly been having a bad day.

“Very well,” Waverly agreed. “If you are sure.”

Kuryakin nodded. He had enough enemies without having members of the NYPD gunning for him.


End file.
